


Paid In Energon

by Useless19



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bad Sex, Good Sex, M/M, Minor Starvation, Prostitution, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, performance issues due to starvation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Useless19/pseuds/Useless19
Summary: Another high-caste client, another paltry addition to the revolution fund — at least the flashy little sports car looked Megatronus in the optic when talking to him.
Relationships: Knock Out/Megatron (Transformers)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	Paid In Energon

**Author's Note:**

> One day I'll exhaust my ideas for prostituted!gladiator!Megatron, but it won't be today.

There was a cramped waiting room between the gladiators' quarters and the high-caste entertainment room. Only one door could be opened at a time, making a space to keep the high-caste from having to see low-caste squalor.

Megatronus paused there, taking a moment to run a full venting cycle before he had to face the high-caste mechs waiting for him. The energon was still wet on his blade, but it wouldn't do to delay further. He opened the door.

Only one mech stood in the opulent berthroom — a little red sports car. Surprise after surprise, usually high-caste mechs liked to watch each other and offer their snide comments during the act. And Megatronus had never seen a mech of any noble ranking display their vehicle mode so prominently.

"Ah." The mech's mouth drew into a hungry smile when he noticed Megatronus. "My benefactors _have_ been generous today."

Megatronus stepped fully into the room. The door locked behind him and would stay shut until the other mech had left. He forced himself to step up to the berth and wait for the mech to signal what he wanted. Looks were never enough to determine tastes.

And the arena managers would have his newly-won t-cog back out at even the slightest hint that he wasn't bending to their financers' every pathetic whim.

"Nothing to say?" The mech was hanging back. "You were quite the orator in the arena."

"I doubt you're interested in a reproach of lower-caste suffering," Megatronus spat out.

The mech took a step back at the vehemence in his voice. Megatronus wrestled his temper back — it would've been a lot easier if he'd had five minutes to let his systems cool after the fight. But no, he was running hot and the processes he usually had to keep his emotional core in check were scrambling to keep his weapons systems offline.

Even two minutes in the washracks would have been enough.

"It _does_ rather sound like a bit of a mood-killer," the mech agreed easily enough. When he looked over Megatronus again, there was a critical edge to his optics. "You couldn't have gotten cleaned up a bit first?"

Megatronus's engine revved angrily before he could stop it. The mech — Red, Megatronus mentally dubbed him, some mechs liked being referred to by their choice of paint colour — took another step back and held up his servos in surrender.

"It's fine," Red said, too quickly to be the truth. "I suppose it's all part of the experience."

Hopefully, that meant the experience of an actual gladiator and not some twisted fantasy.

Megatronus could never quite manage the high-caste fantasy of a beastly gladiator tamed by a beautiful noble's touch. He could talk the talk, but the mechs who had tried to make him act that way always left disappointed when Megatronus couldn't rein in his in-built aggression. He'd always done far better with the mechs who were just looking for someone big and dangerous.

It had always struck Megatronus as a stupid want. If you wanted softness in the berth, why not pay for the company of a pleasure bot and avoid wasting gladiators' time?

He was getting caught up in his processor again. Megatronus dumped the thought and returned his focus to Red, who was approaching cautiously.

"What are your preferences?" Megatronus asked, vocaliser still rough from roaring his victory to the entire arena barely five minutes ago.

"I'm easy," Red replied, "but I do think it would be a shame to miss out on a champion's spike."

Good. It was easier for Megatronus to judge when to trigger an overload with his spike than his valve — too early and they'd accuse him of faking, too late and they'd get frustrated that he was too difficult to please. When spiking it was simple: immediately after the client overloaded.

"Get on the berth," Megatronus said.

Red hesitated. "I thought there'd be more… _physicality_."

Megatronus growled and grabbed Red by the collar fairing then shoved him onto the bed. The sooner this was over, the better.

Red yelped and his servo transformed into a saw blade. He stared at Megatronus with wide, scared optics.

"Do you really think you can hurt me with that?" Megatronus growled.

He flipped Red over before he could protest and rapped on his panels with his knuckles. Red transformed his hand back out and gathered himself up onto his knees before complying.

"You 'face everyone this roughly?" Red sniped. "Or is it just because your systems are running hot after that fight?"

"I am a _gladiator_ ," Megatronus said. "The champion of Kaon. I don't do _gentle_."

Red's soft yellow valve was darkening with lubricant already. Good, that would make things easier. The high-caste disdained automatic preparation protocols, so he must be liking the _full experience_.

Megatronus released his spike. It struggled to fully pressurise. His combat systems kept trying to shut down his interfacing ones for fear of becoming blind to an attack. He used his hand to guide it into Red's valve — past experience telling him that he'd miss if he tried to go without.

Soft and slick, but unfortunately not very charged up yet. Megatronus started moving, short, hard thrusts to make up for his pressure problems.

It wasn't his most elegant performance. Megatronus tried to recall what his usual strategies were, but his memory banks were refusing to cooperate with his clumsy search requests and he was drawing a blank. Whenever he tried to assess Red's frame for cues, his tactical battle computer kept throwing up suggestions for how to disable him.

"Come on," Red said, disgruntled, "can't you manage to make it feel _good?_ "

That's it. Megatronus was done.

Gladiators had more than a few tricks under their plating when it came to interfacing with clients they didn't want to spend much time on. Megatronus pulsed a jolt of electricity designed to trigger an overload and pressed deep.

Red shouted in protest, but couldn't resist the electromagnetic wave. He shuddered into overload, callipers twitching erratically against Megatronus's spike.

"You —" Red started.

Megatronus ignored him and triggered his own overload. His transfluid piping _stung_ with it. He slumped over Red, taking a moment to ensure he wouldn't crash, then pulled out and stepped back. His optics were refusing to focus and he nearly tripped over the end of the berth. He found the edge and sat down.

He hadn't been this tired in _decades_.

"I had been hoping for something a bit more… impressive," Red said, disappointment filling every word. He stood up, then looked down suddenly in surprise. "Wait, what's your fuel gauge at?"

Megatronus checked. The percentage returned was in the single digits.

"It is none of your concern," he said. "If you wanted a better frag, you should've paid a pleasurebot. Gladiators are made for _fighting_."

"Fine, but mechs only stop producing transfluid if they're below three percent and that will lead to lots of other errors too," Red said. "Even if the frag isn't any good I still want to be able to say I clanged the champion and that won't happen if you keel over dead in your next fight because your fuel pump cracked from trying to pump nothing to over-taxed systems."

"I know my limits," Megatronus growled.

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Red said, with a condescending edge to his voice that irritated Megatronus like grit in his gears — thankfully spending the resources required to locate and hit him was more work than Megatronus wanted to do. "There must be _something_ around here for you to drink though. Or something for me, perhaps?"

"High-grade, in the back cupboard," Megatronus said. "For patron use only."

Red was already moving. He picked over the small, fluted, vividly-coloured energon containers, sniffing an occasional one and tutting.

"How many of these are just coloured solvent?"

Megatronus avoided answering, taking the chance to shut off his optics for a moment and start reprioritising his systems queue. He just needed a few minutes to properly deal with his damage reports and allow his systems to downgrade their threat levels. Running on the presumption that he was still in a fight was doing more harm than his empty tanks.

Megatronus had just wrestled the last of his combat systems to be set to inactive when a vocaliser rebooted. That was the only reason he didn't immediately offline the mech standing in front of him when his optics snapped back to full-alert.

Red dangled a thin, twisty glass of yellow energon before Megatronus's face.

"Drink up," he said, cheerfully oblivious to how close he'd come to death. If he'd interrupted a second before, he'd be skewered already. "It's got actual energon in it. Should last you a couple of hours, even if you are so… big."

The drinks set up in the room wouldn't be dangerous — cheap and foul-tasting, very possibly, but the managers wouldn't risk harming a paying customer — however, Megatronus had taken his optics off of Red and he'd heard tales from the pleasurebots in the brothels around the arena about the sorts of things unscrupulous mechs would slip into drinks.

But, Megatronus was too short of energy to refuse. He took the glass — carefully, mindful of his claws — and threw back the contents. Bitter energon, but serviceable.

Sharp, crystal clarity returned as his systems stopped fighting each other for resources and with it a realisation that should have been obvious from the start.

"You're not high-caste," Megatronus said.

The obvious vehicle-mode. The easy sharing of fuel. The fact that he spoke _to_ Megatronus and not just _at_ him.

"No, I'm not," Red said, amused. "I'm a medic."

Which would normally mean mid-caste, except —

"Not a licensed one," Megatronus said. "Not with a vehicle-mode like that and your lack of official markings."

Red finally stopped smirking. Megatronus leant forward — not standing up just yet — and grinned.

"Tell me: how does an off-books medic end up working for the sort of mechs who can afford the premium tickets to my matches?" Megatronus asked. "A surgery they don't want publicised? An unwanted newspark snuffed? Or something worse?"

"Try an alt-mode overhaul," Red said. "Beast-modes are _so_ low-caste and why stick to what Primus gave you if you can be a minesweeper instead?"

A _what?_

"Alt-mode switching is a myth," Megatronus said dubiously.

"Not in the servos of a surgeon as skilled as I am," Red said, flexing his delicate digits. He cocked a hip and raised an optic ridge. "It's Knock Out, by the way. Since you asked."

Arrogance was disturbingly attractive when it was justified.

"I'll remember that," Megatronus said. "You strike me as a mech who could be _useful_ , if he felt so inclined."

"Mmm, and you'd like to _use_ me?" Knock Out purred.

Still a client — one that Megatronus had failed to satisfy. His re-energised pride was smarting from that. He was the champion which meant more than just being a good killer.

His systems pinged a warning of the state of his slowly-refilling transfluid tank. Enough to take the edge off his urgency to prove this mech wrong. After all, why give in to pride when there was bargaining to be done?

"You've had yours," Megatronus said. "Though I may be persuadable to something more impressive if I got something in return. Say, an appointment?"

Megatronus had always wanted to fly — something expressly forbidden to the low-castes.

"It's more than my paint's worth to do any kind of repairs on a gladiator," Knock Out said. "Especially with only a frag for payment."

Megatronus stood up. Knock Out immediately switched from annoyed arrogance to nervous realisation that he was a small civilian trapped in a room with a gladiator.

"Ah, well," Knock Out said, servos held up in what would have been surrender if they hadn't been twitching to transform. "It's not just my time you've got to pay for; there are parts to consider. On the black market too, since I'm assuming you'd want to avoid high-caste notice."

"Money is not an issue," Megatronus said. "However, too many mechs have made promises to me only to break them when I tried to collect. I trust you're not the sort to do something like that?"

Knock Out gave an easy smile and his surrender turned into a flourish. "Of course not."

Oh, yes. Megatronus _liked_ a useful mech.

"Then we have a deal?" Megatronus asked.

"I keep a slot open in my appointment book for you. You give me a good frag," Knock Out clarified. "And you'll pay for my services?"

"I believe in rewarding those who have done well by me and my cause," Megatronus said. "So, doctor, what sort of evening did you have in mind?"

"Your cause?" Knock Out said warily. "You weren't… you weren't just saying that? I mean the whole _Megatronus the Revolutionary_ isn't just a character you play for the die-hard fans?"

"I know what the high-caste think of my performance," Megatronus said. "But the low-castes have never misunderstood my words. I _will_ tear down the caste-system. Everyone who denies my revolution as merely an act only makes it easier for me to rise up." He took in Knock Out's wide optics. "And anyone who stands in my way will be extinguished."

"You really mean it," Knock Out said faintly.

"The High Council and its ilk call me a deceiver, though I speak nothing but truth," Megatronus said. "I find I like their name for my movement — the first thing they have freely given us."

"Decepticons," Knock Out murmured.

Fear, awe, and an undercurrent of viciousness. Everything Megatronus saw in fresh recruits. Perhaps this evening would be even more productive than it had already promised to be.

Megatronus straightened his shoulders and tried not to grimace as it pulled something in the vicinity of his fuel pumps. Energon sometimes sat uncomfortably in his tanks, especially the higher-grades.

Knock Out's optics went from appreciating Megatronus's frame to critical medic mode again.

"It looks like your t-cog has been incorrectly aligned," Knock Out said. "I imagine you'll be burning energy faster to work around your piston housing when transforming. It hurts too, no doubt."

Transforming _wasn't_ meant to set Megatronus's fuel lines on fire every time?

"How can you tell?"

"You transformed twice during the fight," Knock Out said. "Both times there was a judder — I almost thought you weren't going to make it the first time — and it was much slower than it should have been. I understand a need for a display in a pit fight, but it wasn't like that."

Concerning, that it had been so obvious, if only to a trained medic's optic.

"Can you fix it?" It was galling to have to ask, but it would be worse to leave such an obvious disadvantage.

Knock Out smiled like he wanted to take Megatronus apart piece by piece. "If I couldn't, I wouldn't be worth the circuitry it took to call me a medic." He put a servo on Megatronus's side, just over the place it hurt. "How did it get like that in the first place? Bad hit in a fight?"

"I have courted many injuries during my reign as champion, but a damaged transformation cog is not one of them." Megatronus paused. The story was unlikely to garner him sympathy — or worse, _pity_ — given Knock Out's manner. Good. "Gladiators' t-cogs are removed upon their sparking. Only once they have fought and won for two centuries are they permitted to have it reinstalled. I understand that the ones who fall in fatal bouts have their t-cogs donated to high-caste hospitals."

Gladiator weaponry was specifically built to not require transformations. Even Megatronus's sword was extended and retracted by a simple catch and release system in his arm. Partly to get around a missing t-cog, partly to make the weapons easier to graft onto another gladiator's frame if they fell — wouldn't want those expensive parts to go to waste.

"Taken out and put back in by complete hacksaws, no doubt," Knock Out said. "I suppose that makes becoming champion even more of a feat."

There was that purring engine again. Megatronus checked his transfluid reserves — still far from full, but good enough for another round.

 _Physicality_ , Knock Out had wanted. Megatronus reached over Knock Out's helm and grabbed a tyre with sharp claws.

"Turn around," Megatronus ordered.

Knock Out licked his lips and did so. Megatronus pulled him by the wheels until he was sat in Megatronus's lap on the edge of the berth.

Clean tyres were a novelty in Kaon. Knock Out's held little enough road dust that Megatronus felt comfortable leaning down to lick one and enjoy the strange rubbery feeling and its unique tread.

"You don't know where I've been," Knock Out said, breathlessly enough that Megatronus was certain he was enjoying this despite his protest.

"I know where you're going." Megatronus trailed his hand down Knock Out's front until he reached his panels. "Open for me."

The smooth red metal folded away with more noise the high-caste mechs Megatronus was used to. He pushed the thought away, here was a chance to enjoy a skilled mech, he shouldn't waste it on musings of his oppressors.

Knock Out was still wet and open from their previous session. Megatronus wrapped his servos around his waist and lifted — Knock Out made a noise of appreciation. Megatronus released his spike, then lowered Knock Out onto it. He'd gotten good at aiming over the years.

"Wait!" Knock Out said hurriedly, when he was only halfway down. "Let me —"

Megatronus paused.

"You're — oh, _mmm_." There was a strained _click_ Knock Out's callipers widened further. "There. I forgot that you wouldn't have been fully pressurised earlier, what with your low fuel levels."

Knock Out _did_ feel tighter now that Megatronus was paying attention. He lowered Knock Out the rest of the way, slowly, until his aft was flush to Megatronus's pelvic plating and he was venting shallowly.

"Fast or slow?" Megatronus asked.

"I might be a medic, but I'm also a racer," Knock Out said. "I don't do _slow_."

"Prove it."

Megatronus leant back on one arm, giving Knock Out space to move. He encouraged him with a hand under a thigh, pushing Knock Out to ride Megatronus's spike.

Knock Out went at it with every decimetre of exhibitionism Megatronus had suspected he had from the moment he'd clapped optics on him. Knock Out slid up, clever digits spreading his lubricant further over Megatronus's spike, then eased back down. That was the only experimental pass he did and soon he was moving after than anyone Megatronus had taken to berth before.

Megatronus traced up the brilliant red biolights that ran down Knock Out's back, teasing his claw under utilitarian plating whenever the light strips vanished behind it.

Knock Out shivered and gave a sly smirk over his shoulder. "And here I thought the point of paying for interface was to get someone else to do all the work?" He winked. "Unless you can't keep up?"

Megatronus growled his engine and sat up enough to grab Knock Out's hips with both hands.

"The point of paying for interface is to frag exactly how you want." Megatronus pulled Knock Out further onto his spike, enjoying the thready moan it got him. "And you want to show off."

"Sure of that, are you?"

"However, if you want me to take over where you can't —" Megatronus gripped Knock Out under the thighs and lifted him until only the tip of his spike was still in hot, needy valve, "— just admit defeat to your champion."

Knock Out moaned. Megatronus brought him back down quickly and shallowly.

" _Yield to me_ ," Megatronus growled.

Knock Out's engine turned over in a sudden burst. He valve squeezed tight, but he wasn't overloading just yet. Megatronus pulled him down, sinking his spike in deep again, feeling every last calliper be forced open by the inexorable push of his spike. A lovely reminder of how a non-combatant stood no chance against any part of Megatronus.

Megatronus pressed his servo over Knock Out's array, letting two claws tease the rim of the valve stretched obscenely around his spike. He could feel the hot pulse of Knock Out's node against the metal of his palm.

"You're close," Megatronus observed.

"Mmm," Knock Out tilted his helm back just enough to catch Megatronus's optics, "I hope you're going to give me a proper overload this time, Champion."

"Is that a challenge?"

Knock Out shivered at the growl of Megatronus's engine. Such a pretty little delicate thing against the roughly burnished gunmetal grey of Megatronus's frame.

Megatronus didn't like using his fusion cannon directly in interface, but it did provide some advantages on the rare occasions he felt charitable towards his clients. He sent a looped on/off signal to his weapons systems and pressed his servo firmly against Knock Out's array.

"Oh," Knock Out said. Then, in a much breathier gasp, " _oh!_ "

Knock Out arched into the building vibration. The whine of his engine rose higher and higher. Megatronus lifted him again. As he brought him back down, Knock Out overloaded sharply — literally, his claws sank into the transformation seams on Megatronus's arm and pinched finely-tuned circuitry.

Knock Out was lucky he hadn't done that when Megatronus's combat protocols had been up.

As his overload crested the peak and the last of his charge grounded, Knock Out tensed suddenly.

"Out — out!" Knock Out whimpered. "Too much. I need —"

And that was the problem with smaller mechs biting off more than they could chew — or have in their valves at least. Callipers had a tendency to lock up after an overload and flood their owner's systems with errors if they couldn't spiral down into their standard parameters — especially if there hadn't been an accompanying burst of charge from the inserted spike to keep them pliable.

Megatronus pulled Knock Out off his spike slowly and laid him on the berth. It was awkward, with Knock Out's wheels in the way, but Knock Out settled back into something that, while it didn't look comfortable, looked easy and practised.

"It'll only be a couple of ticks," Knock Out promised.

Megatronus crawled over him. Knock Out's engine gave a rev of interest as Megatronus picked up one of his delicate surgeon's hands. Long, sharp, skilful digits were an unusually lovely contrast to Megatronus's own wicked claws. Elegant as any high-caste's servos, but far more beautiful for the thin, healing, quicksilver scarring that was proof of use. This mech had fought to do as he pleased.

Megatronus licked up the palm of Knock Out's hand then let his glossa slide between two digits, marvelling at the _texture_.

Knock Out whimpered in the best possible way. Megatronus could feel his charge jump back up where their plating was touching. Megatronus cupped Knock Out's array. The mesh was wet and warm, but the callipers were still struggling to recover. Possibly a side-effect of Megatronus's earlier race to the finish. It couldn't be helped.

"Wait," Knock Out said, grabbing Megatronus's wrist when he started to pull away. "Stay there, I've got an idea."

He slipped his digits under Megatronus's larger hand, diving into his valve.

"That's it." Knock Out ran a burst of electricity down his servo. Megatronus's hand helped amplify the charge and with a frame-shuddering jolt, Knock Out's callipers relaxed. "There you go."

"An interesting trick," Megatronus said. It could be useful for those demanding clients who wanted more overloads than was good for them. Though having a hard limit was useful more than it was a frustration for him. "Allow me to take advantage."

Knock Out bit his lip and took his digits back, leaving himself open under Megatronus. So inviting. It was the easiest thing in the world to slide his spike back into that welcoming heat.

Megatronus braced himself over Knock Out and started driving into him. It was easier to get power from this angle, to give Knock Out the fast, hard frag he'd been waiting for all evening. A wonderfully yielding valve that took Megatronus like it was built for it. If every high-caste frag was like this, Megatronus would resent his duty less.

" _Yes_ ," Knock Out hissed, squeezing around Megatronus.

Megatronus slowed as a strange tingling sensation bloomed at the base of his spinal strut and swept upwards. It took him longer than he'd like to admit to place it, but once he did there was no mistaking the feeling, despite it having been centuries since he'd last felt it.

He was going to spontaneously overload.

He was going to _spontaneously_ overload _with a partner_.

Overloads weren't a foreign concept, obviously — the high-caste got tetchy when their paid-for entertainment didn't meet their expectations and forcing overloads out of uninterested gladiators seemed to be a particular fetish of theirs — but Megatronus couldn't remember the last time he hadn't had to flip his breakers to get there.

Of course, now that Megatronus was focusing on it, the approaching overload receded.

"Tell me," Knock Out hissed, sharp digits clawing uselessly against Megatronus's plating, dragging him back into the moment and the mech he was supposed to be fragging. "Tell me what you're planning for the high-caste."

" _Annihilation_."

Knock Out's valve rippled — he _liked_ that. Megatronus hunched over to whisper in his audial as he picked up speed again.

"We will take our freedom. Live without gold-plated pedes grinding us into the dirt. Destroy those who dare to keep us starved and shamed and subjugated. First, their precious towers — built by creditless mechs who live in squalor. Then their energon refineries — fed by underground mechs who go from first-flare to guttered husks without ever seeing the sky. Finally, their frames — sustained by newsparks who will never feel whole and by medics who weren't sparked in the right place to gain a license."

Knock Out froze beneath him. Megatronus smiled.

"Don't you want to see them bleeding out?" Megatronus murmured. "To have their life in your servos and _choose_ to let them extinguish?"

Knock Out overloaded with a blinding flash of headlights. Such a nasty, vicious streak, Megatronus hadn't enjoyed interfacing this much since before he'd become intimately familiar with the high-caste entertainment room.

Megatronus flipped his breakers — they went far easier than usual — and overloaded, pressing deep inside Knock Out, and felt every pulse of his charge loosen the death-grip of spent callipers.

It was tempting to stay a little longer, but his grounded charge would only last so long and nothing spoilt an afterglow more than getting a gladiator-build spike stuck inside an automobile-sized valve. Knock Out groaned when Megatronus pulled out.

"Much better," Knock Out said, lazy and spent. "Mmm."

Megatronus retracted his spike and stretched, letting tense cables finally relax. He was going to have to threaten his way into getting more time between matches and berthroom clients in the future. He'd gotten lucky this time, but fortune was rarely on his side when it came to the high-caste.

Knock Out snapped his panel shut and got to his pedes.

"That was a lot of information," Knock Out said slowly. "Suppose I took your plan to the enforcers? The High Council?"

"You could, but you won't." Megatronus laughed when Knock Out narrowed his optics. "You want them to suffer as much as I do. And, if you do —" Megatronus leant into Knock Out's space and bared his fangs, "— there will be no mercy for you when we win."

Knock Out flinched. "Understood."

"I wouldn't worry," Megatronus said, straightening up. "You seem smart enough to pick the right side and I do like a useful mech."

"I _have_ always wanted to be on the winning team," Knock Out said. "Assuming you don't get yourself offlined by way of an empty tank before then."

Megatronus let his engine rumble in a friendly warning. It was further proof that Knock Out truly wasn't high-caste when he read it correctly and steepled his digits in front of a smile.

"My comm code," Knock Out said as a ping hit Megatronus's communications array, "for your appointment. And if you should happen to come across any useful bits and pieces you'd like to trade for further medical favours — I can give you a good deal on coolant lines by the metre."

Megatronus logged the code. He'd get Soundwave to look into it properly later, to ensure that Knock Out was being truthful about being a medic and that the code would stand up to encryption.

Knock Out scraped at the drying transfluid on his thigh and pulled a face. The flakey silver stood out starkly against the dark grey paint.

"There had better be cleaning facilities," Knock Out said darkly. He glanced at Megatronus's energon-splattered plating and _tsk_ ed nastily. "Am I supposed to spend my entire ride home looking freshly fragged?!"

"It suits you." Megatronus waited for Knock Out's engine to rev in frustration before continuing, "There's a washrack by the manager's office. He's easily persuadable."

Knock Out stopped bristling and gave Megatronus one last lingering look up and down.

"This was… illuminating," Knock Out said. "Not to mention extremely enjoyable. Until next time?"

"I will contact you soon," Megatronus said, as much a threat as a promise.

The door swished shut smoothly — the clients' side was always better kept than the rusty doors Megatronus would have to force open to return to his cell in the barracks — cutting off the sounds of the milling audience and leaving Megatronus in peaceful silence with a warmly-used array.

Hopefully Megatronus's meeting with the mid-caste archivist tomorrow would go just as smoothly.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi over at [transformersvn.tumblr.com](https://transformersvn.tumblr.com) where I make Transformers visual novels.


End file.
